


How to: Time Traveling for Dummies

by Lilkiwibird



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, The Marauders - Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression, Animagus, Child Hermione, Magic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilkiwibird/pseuds/Lilkiwibird
Summary: Hermione Granger, was sad to say, a sore loser. She could never really leave well enough alone. Which is probably why she felt obligated to do what she did, in the end. Even if it did mean cocking up the plan six ways to Sunday.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Foreword

**_31 October 2004  
_ ** **_Isle of Dead, Hogwarts_ **

It was odd not having Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at her back, the three of them against the world just as it had always been for most of their lives. Three little Gryffindors shouldering the weight of the world, taking it by storm. At least that had been the idea, the rose-tinted altruistic idea; one in which had completely shattered as the Second Wizarding War had drawn to a close. Things hadn't changed that much at first, there had been a shit ton of red tape to wade through in order to reform Wizarding Britain and no one (bar the few fanatics) wanted a repeat of the First War. Then there was the decision to return to Hogwarts to complete her final year of Hogwarts, something in which Harry and Ron had seen no sense in doing. It had been the first of the real cracks between the three.

Ron, high on the infamy granted to him as a war hero, had ridden the wave and wealth offered to him as far as he possibly could. Which usually meant delving into his suddenly deep pocket as if it were never ending. It had been a rather big shock to the ginger when it had run out and even more so when he had turned to family and friends for support—people, mind you, that he had originally shunned as being below him in those few months of wealth. That had been the second crack.

Harry had predictably joined the Ministry as an Auror-in-training, sailing through the programme with little difficulty (whether due to his reputation or experience was still up for debate). Although Hermione was always a little smug when he wrote to her to sourly complain about having to relearn all the defensive basics. His departure from her life wasn't as drastic as Ron's had been, it was more of a gradual decline. Following his pursuit and marriage of one Ginevra Weasley, the pair had just drifted apart. One consumed by work, the other by family. That was the third crack.

Looking back on it, Hermione couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had she put a little more effort into staying in touch. Would she have married Ronald? Would she be a mother? Would her parents (still not quite the same from their obliviation) have been grandparents? They were lonely questions, sad questions that she often tried to ignore, although it wasn't always easy.

And then there was Hogwarts herself. Gone was the crumbling stone walls and burning trees, instead replaced by the impressive castle she had come to know and love over her years at the school. The walls were still a little bare from the war, although Headmistress McGonagall had commissioned a few new ones to be added to the collection; such as those that held their fallen peers as a kind of memoriam for them. It was sweet, if a little hard to see her classmates and friends happily chatting to the ghosts or having champagne with the Fat Lady. She had spent many a-day in front of some of those portraits just weeping that last year back at the castle.

Hermione would've loved nothing more than to pursue the endless halls of her alumni with just the portraits as company. Perhaps she would have visited Fred's portrait to tell him of his brothers' adventures, or maybe she would've gone down to the kitchens to see the little House elves still tinkering away down there, covered in soot and flour, but that was not why she was here. It was not why the full moon still shone overhead like a beacon. It wasn't why the usually barren Scottish isle was currently occupied, nor why her desecrated headmaster's tomb stood as her altar, or even why the dormant Eldritch egg lay at her feet.

Eldritch monsters were rather curious creatures, things—beings of the Void that very rarely crossed through the Veil to cause destruction and chaos in this world. Those few—those brave, stupid few—who carried the eggs, like this one, across the planes had barely tapped into the potentials of such creatures (if they survived the journey, that is). Where dragon hide was widely known to be used in a multitude of ways, Eldritch eggs were (so far) used for the one sole purpose; something in which Theodore Nott had discovered in his work as an Unspeakable in the Time Vault. Plied with firewhiskey, the Slytherin boy had let slip how the eggs where the original source for time turners—how they were the original source for time travel to begin with. It had been a fascinating read, and a disastrous kidnapping; one for the ages, really.

Shaking her head as if to physically clear the memory from her mind, Hermione returned to the task at hand. It had taken her a long time to find the items she had needed for this particular ritual—an Eldritch egg, the Unholy regalia smelted down into a morning star, the holy sight of Hogwarts' isle of dead—and even longer to ready herself for the task at hand. Nott, despite not knowing it, had been a great help in divulging what information he knew about time travel—even if he been hammered at the time and far more interested in talking about the discrepancies between women and dragons.

At her back sat the ruins of the ancient groundskeeper's quarters, the ones that had once been used back during Merlin's time. The ghosts of those long-passed seemed to be judging her as she reached for her little drawstring bag and stuffed the item into her bra. This time, she was far more prepared for the dangers they would face, the bag baring more than just a few cans of food and a tent; one could almost consider it a doomsday bunker, if wizards even had those. Next was the morning star, (a medieval spiked ball and chain—similar to a mace) which she held loosely in her hand, trying her very best not to drop it on her foot. With a fair amount of effort she was able to pick up the bowling ball-sized Eldritch egg and heft it up to her chest before she shuffled over to the area she had marked for the ritual.

Carefully stepping over tarnished stones and around burning candles, Hermione spared a glance towards her wand where it remained faithfully strapped to her scarred wrist, as if protecting her from the horror of the memory it caused, or perhaps reminding her why she was doing this in the first place. This time would be different, she would make sure of it. Hefting the egg higher, she lifted her chin to the heavens as if stubbornly denying their fates cast upon them, just as Nott's words of warning came to mind. _"…Why're—hic—why're you so interested—hic—in—in ole magics anyway, Granger? You—hic—y'know they're dang—dan—bad, right? Most of it's pretty—hic—pretty dark stuff and—hic—and, if you're in for a knut, you're in for a galleon. Once you start, you—hic—you can't stop—stop for nothin'…"_

"I know, Nott" Hermione muttered to herself as if talking any louder would awaken the dead. "But I hate losing" Setting her shoulders back and standing straight with feet apart like the soldier she was (you never really got rid of that, she found) and began the ritual. Swinging the morning star above her head like a propeller, the words she'd practised time and time again flowed from her bluing lips, the cold evening making her breath barely visible by candlelight as she chanted. _"Dei tempus, sit nobis reddere, iter recipere, ut heri"_ Around her the world began to blur as the egg in her hand heated up with otherworldly magics. The incantation repeated over and over, words flowing into each other until they no longer made sense and then all at once she was gone.

* * *

Hermione wasn't aware if anything had worked when she had arrived in the past, all that she knew was when she had stopped chanting both the morning star and the Eldritch egg had disappeared from hands as if they had never been there. Sparing a quick minute to check herself over, the witch found that she was no longer the 25 year old woman she had been, instead regressed to her 13 year old self. It would appear that the sacrifice mentioned in the texts about the ritual pertained to more than just the usual mind-bending issues related to time travel.

"Right" Hermione brushed herself off and went about shrinking her clothes down enough sizes to fit properly before she made her way to the little jetty that jutted out from the isle. Hopping inside one of the little rickety boats docked there, she sank to the floor as it began to trundle its way across the still lake and towards the shore. "Ooh! My head!" She groaned, leaning forward to clutch at her aching skull. Accompanied by the full body ache that coursed through her bones, she felt like her bones were trying to reconstruct themselves beneath her marred skin—which they were, in a sense. "This must've been what Harry had to deal with when Ma'am Pomfrey regrew is bones! Eurgh!"

Soon enough, the little boat had docked itself at the shore on the outskirts of Hogwarts, letting the young witch disembark and head towards the castle, hoping to blend in with the crowds following the end of the Triwizard Tournament. If all had gone well, then she would have arrived just as Harry had been bundled up to the hospital wing. But as she trekked through the dense undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest something seemed…off. It may have been late in the evening, but even then the commotion of the Third event had kept everyone well up passed curfew the last time around. Friends had slept in beds together, Mrs Weasley had swaddled all of her children (adopted and otherwise) into her arms like a mother hen and the castle had effectively gone on lockdown.

But there was none of that here now. Standing on the edges of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione stared up at the gleaming castle filled with a cocktail of feelings, her gaze flittering back and forth between the Quidditch pitch, which remained unmarred by the large hedge maze once placed there. And then there was this feeling in the air, something electric that she would have typically brushed off as a slip of accidental magic running through her curls or the beginnings of a lightning storm on the horizon.

She disappeared with a crack, not giving a second thought to the fact that you couldn't apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and yet she had. Stumbling slightly upon arrival, Hermione clutched at her pounding head as black dots danced across her vision. There was a pain in her wrist over her brand like something had pierced through the skin there. Some part of her believed that the letters—the pain had been etched into her soul. As it turned out, the ritual had taken far more out of her than she had first believed. But that still didn't stop her from staring dumbly up at the pumpkin-littered doorstep of Potter Cottage, nor the snow-covered stoop. "That's…not right" She blinked dumbly at the fully bright and upright house before her.

The faint tingle of weak wards glittered before her, turning the visage of the previously broken Potter's cottage a little murky. She'd come to Godric's Hollow on nothing more than a whim, something in the back of her mind niggling at her brain when she reappeared and seen the seemingly tranquil grounds of Hogwarts. When did she get use to the chaos? Everyone knew the dangers of delving into the murky waters that were the old magics, but who could ever know that this is what would come of it? Who knew delving into old magics would end like this?


	2. Trick or Treat

**_31 October 1981  
_ ** **_Godric's Hollow, West Country_ **

That Halloween would always be one the James Potter would remember. When he would become old and grey, he knew he would remember how Lily— _his wife!—_ had danced around the kitchen to some silly Muggle tune that was rattling through the radio, bobbing her head and making the comical witch's hat flop this way and that as she refilled the Halloween bowl they had been snacking from the entire night. Locked up in hiding as they were, they knew better than to think that any trick or treaters would knock on their door but it was the thought that counted. That and Harry— _his son!—_ had taken great delight in chasing after the wayward Chocolate Frogs as fast as his stubby little one year old legs could take him, most of that afternoon.

Scrunching up his nose at the rotten egg **-** flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Bean in his mouth, James happily watched as Harry—dressed in an obnoxiously fluffy lion onesie—jovially bounced up and down in the Jolly Jumper (Lily had insisted on buying that blasted thing and it had taken him far longer than he would ever admit to get it right) latched to the doorframe with much enthusiasm as if he too, were dancing and occasionally shrieking with happiness when Lily pulled faces at him. On the breakfast counter next to him lay Elvendork, lazily pawing at the multicoloured empty wrappers littered about. The ugly kneazle seemed to take great delight in the crinklier wrappers that crunched beneath her claws. It was perfect…well, as perfect as life could be in the middle of a war.

In the end, the change didn't come with a boom or a bang; there was no flash of light nor a wisened old crone droning on about fate, destiny and prophecies. No, it came simply, with a knock on the door. "Did you hear that?" Lily turned towards the door, a look of confusion mirrored on his own paranoid one as the song on the radio fizzled out.

"It's probably just Bagshot" James replied, although the excuse sounded whimsy at best. Their elderly neighbour was sweet enough, if a little odd—even by their standards. Again, knocking on the door sounded, this time a little more harried than before.

Rising to his feet, James slipped his wand into his hand as he moved, silent and wary towards the front door. Behind him, Lily had pulled a giggling Harry from the Jolly Jumper and clutched tight to him as tensions in the little cottage rose, both prepared to run and fight should the need arise. In front of him the ivory panelling of their front door loomed like something from a nightmare. His mouth had gone dry and he found he had trouble swallowing around the panic in his heart. Who would he find on the other side of the door? What Death Eaters would knock? Had Peter forgotten the password again? Did Bagshot need something? Was this the end?

Sweaty palms gripped tight to 11 inches of mahogany as he spared a glance over his shoulder, telling himself that he was making sure Lily and Harry were safe. His backup came in the form of Elvendork who had gracefully leapt up into the front window, twining between the red curtains with ease and pressed her fuzzy face against the cool glass that overlooked the front garden. All was quiet as James reached for the doorknob, the coolness of the metallic seemingly hissing against his hot flesh as he heaved a deep breath and yanked the door open with much more force than necessary.

What he found made him pause a little. The girl was young, possibly only just having entered her teens, and looked like she had seen better days. The plum cable knit sweater she wore bore several holes in the body and the loose threads hug from the hems like stringy tinsel. Beneath that lay a grey hoodie, only visible by the hood pulled out the top of the sweater's neck and a pair of worn jeans that were slightly ripped in the knees. This would have been fine if the girl had not been sopping wet, either from the snow or rain which had plastered the auburn curls to her face. There was also the scent of blood on the air (a handy talent he'd picked up from his Animagus, although nowhere near Moony's calibre) that set him on edge.

All of this fluttered through his mind in an instant, the vestiges of his Auror training taking everything in at a moment's notice. "U-um…" She mumbled, physically fighting to keep her eyes open, swaying slightly. "Can—can I use your telephone?"

"What're you doing 'ere, kid?" James replied, his shoulders tense as his eyes wandered over their bushes as if someone was waiting to jump out and ambush them. "You lost?"

"C-can I use your telephone?" She repeated, shivering slightly in the cold as she shifted on his doorstep.

Behind him, he could hear Lily stepping further into the hallway, worried about what was taking so long and who the young voice he was talking to, was. A small patter and thunk pulled his attention back to the teen in front of him, both of their eyes going to the broken wand laying splintered at their feet from where it had fallen from her sleeve. James gripped tighter to his own in return, still paranoid that they were being set up. "It broke…" The girl mourned, staring down at the remains of her wand with such despair that James would've thought someone had died.

"…Get inside" James ushered the girl in with a hand on her shoulder, his bespectacled gaze suddenly far more interested in the dancing shadows across the street that were only broken by the occasional flickering street lamp.

"James? What's going on?" He heard Lily ask as the teen shuffled inside, stumbling over her own feet as he silently swept his own wand over the broken pieces, sending them zooming inside to sit on the console table in the hallway before he followed.

A small thump was heard before he could reply, something which had him jerking his head up toward the noise as he locked the door behind them, only to find the teen passed out on their floor. "Merlin!" James hissed as he rushed to the girl's side, worry coursing through him. Paranoid he may have been, heartless he was not. Gently rolling the girl over, he found her face screwed up tight like she was in pain as she clutched tight to her left wrist where a small trickle of blood was weeping through her fingers—likely the blood he'd smelt earlier. Tears trekked their way down her cheeks, dripping onto the hardwood floors and mixing with the blood that had landed there.

"James? What's going on?" Lily reiterated, standing in the doorway to living room with Harry on her arm and concerned eyes staring down at the pair.

"She—she was asking to use the fellytone" James eventually spat out, heart beating out of his chest at the thought that the Dark side was taking on children so young. The last time he'd seen this reaction was when Regulus Black had gotten his mark. The younger Black had tried and failed to hide his pain from his peers, but Lily's eyes were sharper than James' (not hard) and she'd seen through Regulus as easy as reading a book.

"The telephone?" She easily translated, shifting Harry to her hip. "Muggle then?"

"She had a wand—it's broken though"

"Muggleborn? Halfblood?" At this revelation Lily appeared far less wary of the girl on their floor, even going so far as to plop Harry on the toy broomstick Padfoot had gotten him for his birthday and knelt down next to him. "James, what are you doing?"

"We have to be sure" He replied as gently pried the cradled wrist from the teen's grip.

"I don't like this" Lily mothered, her stance rigid as she brushed away wet curls from the girl's face.

"We have to be sure" He carefully pushed up the sleeves to reveal a leather cuff with a couple of loops protruding from it; likely where her wand had been previously. A few more minutes were spent trying to finagle the cuff from her wrist without hurting her, until finally they could see what was imprinted there.

James hoped that he was wrong, that there wasn't a Dark Mark there, that they didn't have a baby Death Eater in their hallway. But he wasn't prepared for what they found instead. "James—!" Lily's choked cry sounded strangled in his own ears, despite being sat right next to her.

"I know" James swallowed thickly, disbelieving eyes running over the letters like that would make them disappear—like they weren't real. For there, written there clear as day and carved into the girl's flesh was one simple word: _MUDBLOOD._

* * *

It had been a couple of hours since her sudden arrival and the evening was finally starting to calm down. Harry had gone down easily, gnawing on the ear of his beloved dog plushie (it was about thrice his size and _covered_ in baby drool), much to the quiet relief of his parents. Bar from a few whimpered and pained mutterings, the girl had yet to properly awaken leaving the two elder Potters in the dark about most things really. What had happened to the young witch?

"How'd she even get through the wards?" Lily asked, gripping tight to her half-empty mug as the Potter parents stood in the nursery watching over the two sleeping children who lay inside.

"I dunno…" James shook his head in reply, his gaze travelling between his son who lay slumbering in his cot without a care in the world with the Quidditch mobile dancing above him. In turn, the single bed (transfigured from some ghoulish box Petunia had gifted them) which sat nestled beneath the window, bore the unknown Muggleborn dressed in one of Lily's pyjama shirts and tucked in with the Puddlemere United duvet pulled up to her chin. A damp flannel had been placed over her forehead more as a precaution to taper the fever before it reared its ugly head. Who knows how long she'd been out in the snow? Coupled with wet clothes, that often led to sickness, and James didn't need to be a Healer to know that. Her wet clothes in question were currently tumbling around in the dryer humming in the laundry downstairs (another Muggle gadget Lily had insisted on purchasing).

At some point whilst they had been cleaning up, Elvendork had sauntered into the room and situated herself atop the teen's chest; looking pleased as punch when a hand had subconsciously risen from the depths of the blanket and threaded their fingers into her fur. "That—that scar…" Lily choked on the word, still slightly pale from the discovery of the cursed scar. "It's not fresh"

"Do—do you know how old?" James was almost afraid to ask. As a Healer-in-training, he knew that Lily would at least know a bit more about the art than him. He could kind of remember her complaining about having to identify scars on pigs…or had she been calling him a pig?

"A couple of years at least"

"Merlin…"

"Yeah…"

The two sat in relative silence for most of the night, neither really wanting to leave the nursery despite the knowledge that it was likely the safest room in the house. But both James and Lily were far too wired to sleep, or at least James thought so. At one point he'd glanced over at Lily who had slumped over in the rocking chair in the corner of the room between the two beds, fast asleep. Rising from the stool he'd claimed, James placed a hand knitted quilt (courtesy of the Prewett's sister following Harry's birth) over her before snatching the empty mugs from the dresser and quietly making his way downstairs.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" James sighed into his hands as he leant against the kitchen bench; the weight of the evening finally hitting him now that the adrenaline had dissipated.

 _"Talking to yourself again, Prongsie?"_ Sirius' muffled voice sounded above him. Grinning despite himself, James reached up to pluck the shard of glass from where it was tucked between the recipe books and turned it over to find the unmistakable voluminous locks of one of his best mates staring back at him. _"Sign of madness, that is"_

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you Paddy?" James replied, just as jokingly. He missed these easy-going bickering between his mates far more than he would ever admit.

_"So what's going on in Disneyland?"_

"Oh, y'know the usual" James laughed sarcastically as he turned to lean against the sink. "Harry chased Chocolate Frogs, Lils danced, Elvendork shat in my shoes and a Muggleborn collapsed on my doorstep. What 'bout you?"

_"…Run that by me again?"_

_"S'at Jimmy?"_ Came the sleepily slurred voice of Remus as sandy locks and freckled cheeks peeked into frame.

 _"Yeah"_ Sirius replied, his tone deadpan. " _And 'pparently they've picked up some bird from their doorstep"_

 _"That's nice…"_ Remus nodded, flopping back into bed. James grinned as he watched his canine friend then shoot upwards, startling Sirius who fumbled with the magical mirror shard for a minute or two in surprise. _"WHAT?! AND YOU JUST LET 'ER IN?! HOW THICK ARE YOU?!"_

"She's just a kid, Moony" James replied solemnly, running a hand through his messy locks. "Muggleborn"

 _"How'd you know?"_ Sirius asked this time, brows furrowed and way too close to the magical item. It reminded him of when he'd tried to teach his grandparents how to use a camera.

"She's got a…brand" He hesitated on the last word, bitterly rolling it around in his mouth as it left a sour taste on his tongue.

_"YOU LET A BABY DEATH EATER INTO YOUR HOUSE?!"_

"They carved ' _MUDBLOOD'_ into her arm, you dingus!"

_"…Oh"_

"Yeah…"

_"You gonna tell Dumbledore?"_

"We haven't gotten that far yet—haven't even got a name. Kid passed out soon as she came inside"

_"Shit man, you—"_

_"—What was that?"_ Remus interrupted, his tone sharp as hazel eyes searched over James' shoulder, watching something he hadn't noticed.

"What was what?" James asked, suddenly tense.

_"You sure you're alone, Prongs?"_

"Moony—what is it?" James spun to look out the kitchen window—the one that overlooked the overgrown back garden—to find flickering shadows dancing just beyond the boundary of the porch light.

 _"There's someone there!"_ Remus' voice had lowered as if that would help matters and a quick glance down at the mirror shard showed two pairs of canine eyes staring back at him—one the golden eyes of a werewolf, the other the grey eyes of an animagus.

Palming his wand once more, James peered through the kitchen window once more; this time the earth-shattering crunch of snow underfoot was enough to alert him to the person hidden there. Hazel eyes watched the unwavering dark as the footsteps made their way around to the front of the house, snow crunching underfoot and blood rushing through his ears. If they (the mysterious intruder) had been watching the house since the girl had arrived, then they knew this to be the only way inside—the only weakness in the wards placed on the house. James didn't even make it to the stairwell before the door was blasted off of its hinges and the hooded figure made their way inside.


	3. Love Thy Neighbour

His ears were ringing, that much James could tell, but from the force of the spell or his own panic, he couldn't decipher. Faintly, he could hear Lily shouting down the stairs at him, could hear the panicked cries of his friends unable to do anything but watch him flounder in front of You-Know-Who through the shard of mirror in his other hand; but it felt like he was hearing them through water. Absently he noted that Harry was eerily silent; awake certainly, but silent, like fwoopers when they sensed danger was near. What he _did_ know was that pale and bony fingers had a wand shoved into his face and red snake-like eyes were staring hungrily at him as he gripped tight to the mirror shard in his now weeping hand.

"LILY! TAKE THEM AND GO!" Somehow James had managed to call the words over his shoulder as his gaze remained glued to the monster before him. There was no mistaking the previously unknown wizard this time around. Clenching tight to the shard of mirror in his hand, a steady trickle of blood soon began to weep from his palm; mindless of his inner turmoil. The steady trickle of his own blood dribbled to the floor where it mixed with the splotches of teen's blood still glued to the hardwood floors, and mixed with the magic thrumming through floorboards. It had made it harder for the pair of Potters to remove the blood from the floorboards earlier that evening, until eventually Lily had thrown her hands in the air and declared that she would handle it in the morning. He wasn't sure why he was thinking of that now. "IT'S HIM! GO! RUN! I'LL HOLD HIM OFF!"

An answering scoff and sliver of a smirk on cracked lips was all the warning that James received before Voldemort suddenly fired a killing curse in his direction. The emerald green light lit up the hallway, bathing the room in an eery glow and seemed to move in slow motion towards him. James' heart jumped into his throat where it jackhammered as he threw up a hasty shield of protection between them. It wasn't enough to hold the dark wizard off forever, but it was just enough for the killing curse to dissipate before it made contact, much to the other wizard's ire. The following volley of spells exchanged between the two illuminated the lower level of the house and he prayed that Lily had taken the children to safety.

Absently, he noted the hurried footsteps sounding above him as Lily hurriedly gathered the children together, and the scrambling on the other end of the mirror as both Remus and Sirius hurried to help their friends. Their muttered curses as they fell about trying to stuff themselves into their clothes was just enough to ground the young man as he fought back against the darkest wizard of the age. The following cracks of apparition ringing in his palm further cemented the relief that he would soon have his best mates by his side. Of course, that did nothing to help him in that moment—he still had to live long enough until then.

Time seemed to blur together like fog, his throat clogged with panic as James fought off Voldemort, his only thoughts to stay alive long enough for Lily to get the children to safety. For him to hang on long enough for his mates to arrive, for the Order of the Phoenix to blast their way through his backdoor—hell! He'd even take Alastor's scowl leering at him through the dark and the backhanded compliments he'd offer at a job well done. And then all of a sudden, the lower levels of the cottage was illuminated in a very different glow than the ones from their spells.

Runes he'd never seen before or even remembered learning about school (not that he really paid attention in school anyway). They were old, that much James could decipher as they leaked down the stairs like water and spread across every surface like rabid mold. Sunken into the floorboards and engraved into the loud wallpaper with a illumines golden glow, the runes almost looked like something out of Babbling's yearly presentation to encourage students to take Ancient Runes; (nothing as impressive as some of the other more practical electives mind you, but still enticing enough). The thing that seemed to stick out to James was the these runes were old; but not just any old, they had to be _old_ old—like older than Dippet, old.

The momentarily shared confusion was broken by Elvendork who had emerged from the windowsill whilst they were gawking and had somehow appeared on the stairs. She was fluffed up like a pompom and hissed at the pair of men like a leaking balloon. Spiderwebbing runes beneath her paws made their way across the house—both inside and out—in which the wizards traced their trajectory with wild eyes. From the stairs with the irate & illuminated kneazle to the ramshackled kitchen behind James and back to those golden runes now circling the entrance hall in which they both stood. Some small part of James wondered if his cat had somehow manifested the ability to perform such powerful and ancient magic; but this was soon thrown out the window when You-Know-Who renewed his onslaught with much vigour.

Sweat beaded on James' brow as he grit his teeth in determination, bearing his Gryffindor stubbornness like a shield. The dark wizard seemed to take the runes & cat's presence as a challenge however—the cue to bear down even harder on the younger wizard with all the brute force of a dying man unafraid of death. Furious red eyes narrowed and fang-like teeth were bared as spell after spell was fired in rapid succession. Though loathe to admit it, James was losing ground—losing the battle—much to his dismay.

And then just as James felt his foot slip, catching on a roll of the rumpled rug; a loud and voluminous shriek ripped through the cottage like a wailing woman. The sound of bones crunching like snapped twigs and flesh burning away filled the room and turned his stomach; and yet even as he tumbled back into another ghoulish knick-knack gifted to them by the Dursleys, James found himself petting his own body down even though he felt no pain. Pulling himself upright just in time, he watched on in horrid awe as You-Know-Who folded in on himself, breaking down like moldy bread and steaming like a kettle. The whole process must've taken no more than a few minutes until nothing but a tattered black cloak and wand remained flopped over in a pile on the floor where the dark wizard had stood only moments before.

"What the hell…?" James breathed, staring dumbly at the cloth at his feet and wand still clenched in his hands. The once illuminating runes that had peppered the room were slowing starting to recede, disappearing back up the staircase as if they had never been there to begin with. He continued to stare in utter disbelief, mouth gaping wide as Elvendork cautiously crept towards the black cloth, intent on investigating the remains of the dark wizard as if to make sure that the intruder was well and truly gone. Utter disbelief flooded his system as he stared down at the black cloth at his feet that his cat was throughly sniffing, whiskers twitching wildly as if she was worried something was going to jump out of it. Honestly, so was he. Darkest wizard of the age and he was defeated by mysteriously unknown golden runes.

After a few moments of just standing there in the open hallway, James (spurred on by the cold breeze blowing through the house) moved to fix the door. Moving more on autopilot than anything else, James cautiously approached and skirted the cloth before making his way over to the front door where said item now lay smashed on the floor. A few waves of his wand and the door was back in place with some extra security charms added to it for good measure. After throughly checking all other possible entry points (and really just procrastinating having to approach the remains) he returned to the hallway where Elvendork sat looking just as confused as he felt.

"Mrrow?" Elvendork titled her head in question, whiskers twitching as squashed face stared up at him and You-Know-Who's wand sat between her paws like her catch-of-the-day.

"Yeah—yeah, we should clean that—this—him—it up" James nodded, as if agreeing with the cat. Turning back to stare at the remains, James felt his heart a-flutter as he encompassed the old cloth in a shield-like bubble and hoped that that would do the trick; before he spun on his heel and raced up the stairs towards the nursery, leaving the bubble floating in the hallway behind him. Dancing around the cat who gave a startled yowl at his sudden change in movement, James thundered into the nursery only to have to suddenly duck so as to avoid the barrage of attacks thrown at him.

"LILY! LILY! IT'S ME!" James called from behind his hastily-constructed shield.

"Prove it" Lily demanded, clearly far too wired (not that he could blame her) as her spells ceased but her wand remained pointed at him. "What did Marlene catch you and Sirius doing in the broom cupboard?"

"HEY!" James snapped, blushing bright red in embarrassment, "THAT WAS COMPLETELY PLATONIC! He had to show me something…It's not like I asked to see his dick—duck! _Dammit!"_

"James? Oh my God! James? Are you alright?" Lily's panicked voice called as she lowered her wand; wide eyes moving to the mark on the wall just beyond his ear, left behind by her attack. In her other hand sat Harry giggling madly despite his ashen face and on the bed, the unknown witch remained with golden hazel eyes fluttering beneath her eyelids as she tossed and turned.

"Nice shot…" James murmured as he shuffled further into the room and made his way over to his wife, once again reminded of her prowess. "What are you doing here?" He asked, cupping her face and stared into her eyes as Harry latched onto his crooked arm. "I thought I told you to get out!"

"I tried!" Lily blubbered as she flung herself at him (there was a brief moment where he stumbled to catch her before she hit the ground whilst still holding Harry aloft), mindless of the current limpet shared between them. "But the wards—! And the runes—! _Oh James!"_

"Aagaa!" Harry cooed, shrieking with laughter as he was squashed against his father's scruffy chin and pudgy hands grabbed for the dislodged spectacles barely sitting on James' nose.

"—She just started mumbling and writhing! And those runes—!" Lily continued to weep into her husband's neck, chest heaving against the child in his arms, who in turn, made it rather hard for him to return the gesture.

An awkward arm petted at his wife's side from where it was propped beneath the toddler and he was starting to despair on the position they had fallen into, if only because his arm was starting to fall asleep. Large green eyes looked up at James as tiny little fists beat gently against his father's arm as if Harry was mimicking his actions in a much lesser fashion. Then turning to his weeping mother, Harry wriggled around far enough so that tiny pudgy fingers probed at his mother's lips, forcing them upwards by the corners as he physically tried to make Lily smile. James leant his head against Lily's, smiling slightly at his son's actions. Harry, it seemed, just wanted them to be happy again.

* * *

Once again barricaded in the nursery with the unknown witch lain out in the single bed and Harry happily gurgling in his mother's arms, James finally sank to the floor and cradled his head in hands as everything finally hit him. How the hell had their evening gone from perfect to hell in a hand basket? One minute, he had been watching his family dance around in the kitchen as they snacked on Halloween candy, and the next they'd welcomed a fatigued (and possibly tortured) muggleborn into their home which ultimately ended with You-Know-Who collapsing into a pile of folded cloth courtesy of said witch & her runes.

Sparing a glance over towards Lily and Harry, James was at least relieved that the pair were seemingly okay for the most part. Shock and anxiety having played a large role in tonight's event, meant that all those involved were rather drained—both emotionally & physically. At some point Elvendork had returned to the nursery where she had resumed her place atop the teen, purring happily as if nothing had happened and Lily had slumped over in the corner with Harry pressed to her bosom, happily snoring away.

In turn, James had fallen back against the (now) closed door, acting as a man-made shield against any further attacks. This time, both Potters were far to wired to sleep and James suspected that not even a Calming Drought would work on them at this point. It had been a helluva night, that was for damn sure and he could only hope that the morning breaking over the horizon would bring at least some clarity or answers to them. They deserved that. Or at least, James hoped so.


End file.
